hen reading the Travels, we must remember that it is not a literal rendition of experience, but a story that manipulates time, point of view, theme, imagery, and other narrative devices to make its impression.hen reading the Travels, we must remember that it is not a literal rendition of experience, but a story that manipulates time, point of view, theme, imagery, and other narrative devices to make its impression.
Despite its occasional lapses in accuracy, the Travels remains an orderly, well organized account. A glance at a map of Bartram’s(94) actual travels reveals a meandering and repetitious itinerary. Yet his story of these experiences is composed as four coherent books: (I) Georgia; (II) Florida; (III) Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana; and (IV) the Indians of those regions. The final book, with its particulars on Indian manners, contrasts with the Introduction, a discussion of the general properties of plants and animals, but in both sections Bartram stresses the orderly arrangement of life. His book thus emulates the principles of order that he found throughout Nature.
Bartram has to confine himself to “things as they were.” Yet within those limits, he is free to arrange his materials for artful effect. Hence, the events in his Travels form its “plot,” which he adjusts with an instinct for creating sound narration. Although often he narrates events seriatim, in a chronological order, he can also arrange these elements in topical sequences to convey different impressions of what he did and saw. A common pattern is to alternate brief episodes, usually stressing his movements, with longer “set pieces” that describe species of plants and animals. An encounter with a single turkey introduces an account of the entire species; (95) one bald cypress swamp leads to a lengthy replication of “Cupressus disticha” (Taxodium distichum).(96 ) Occasionally these descriptive asides threaten to impair his story’s forward motion, as when he enumerates the frogs of Florida and Carolina; (97) but ordinarily Bartram presents a good blend of motion and repose to his readers, who can accept the pauses if they continually lead toward new moments of action.
Bartram could not plan his journey to provide an endless variety of events, but in the story he had more control. His travels apparently generated many trivial, repetitious notes, which the book condenses appropriately: “The vegetable productions nearly the same as already mentioned.”(98) He also knew how to pace the narrative, building suspense in moments of peril and creating an air of nervous expectancy to sustain reader interest. A good example is his first meeting with an Indian, who glares threateningly at Bartram and yet succumbs to his genial greeting. Later, Bartram learns that the Indian had been “extremely ill-treated the day before” and had threatened to kill the first white man who crossed his path.(99) His story of this episode is thus embellished with his retrospective knowledge of the danger he so narrowly avoided.
Other manipulations of story time indicate that Bartram wanted to create a variety of tempos, as when he uses the present tense to create an air of immediacy: “what a beautiful display of vegetation is here before me! …see the pearly tears rolling off the buds of the expanding Granadilla; behold the azure fields of cerulian Ixea!”(100) This device suggests an almost immediate transcription of his original experience; it brings vividness and color to a report finally composed long after the fact. He also directly addresses the reader, to suggest an imaginary partnership on the journey: “Behold, for instance, a vast circular expanse before you, the waters of which are so extremely clear as to be absolutely diaphanous or transparent as the ether…”(101)
Bartram’s story persistently invokes this spirit of generosity and cooperation; he recognizes that his reader is a neophyte, traveling imaginatively through this alien terrain, and in great need of a sympathetic guide. He, therefore, sets a rhythm to the story’s pace, organizing chapters around units of space and time, providing breaks at logical moments. He rarely digresses from the journey to offer asides; the only obvious departure is in Book II, Chapter X, the “historical observations”(102) on Southern snakes, frogs, and mammals;(103) followed by “observations on birds, which by some may be thought not impertinent.”(104) This account of the migratory patterns of North American birds,(105) based on observations made along the Atlantic fly way, is an obvious bid for scientific recognition; for Bartram has compiled the first complete and correct list of birds published in America.(106) Yet his tone is deferential, as he concludes that several species are left “to the investigation of future travelling naturalists of greater ability and industry.”(107) The interlude is important, but its place in the Travels is not well-planned; it seems unrelated to the main events and themes of his story line. His other departure from the journey pattern is a brief treatise on the Southern Indians in Book IV. Yet this placement is understandable, for, although the journey has many flattering descriptions of Indians and their customs, Bartram could only draw a coherent portrait of their character by setting up this extended set piece, rendered in discursive form. This chapter greatly impressed his contemporary reader, pro and con, probably as a consequence of its tight rhetorical structure.
Another unifying element in Bartram’s story is the presentation of his own character, or personality.(108) Unlike his blunt father, William Bartram had a gentle disposition; he guarded his emotions and became more artful in expressing them through writing. The writing—by turns pious, practical, rhapsodic and rational—derives its qualities from his own diverse character. Although modest by nature, he often describes himself in the Travels as a man of relentless curiosity:
“Continually impelled by a restless spirit of curiosity, in pursuit of new productions of nature, my chief happiness consisted in tracing and admiring the infinite power, majesty, and perfection of the great Almighty Creator. And in the contemplation, that through divine aid and permission, I might be instrumental in discovering, and introducing into my native country, some original productions of nature, which might become useful to society.”(109)
Ordinarily Bartram uses the dialogue of other characters to comment on himself. His cordial relations with these people express his undesigning and sociable nature. When the Indians name him “Puc Puggy,” or the Flower Hunter,(110) they identify him as a trusted equal, one who has entered their hunting grounds for civil purposes. Throughout his story, Bartram is a character set apart from others by his status as a trained observer of nature,(111) yet he is also a man with ordinary impulses, as we see in his description of the “young, innocent Cherokee virgins” whose beauties greatly tempted him.(112)
Above all, he remains a man of destiny, never forgetting that he had spent years preparing for this mission, and determined to record it carefully for posterity. Yet he has a surprising disinterest in fame or fortune, perhaps because his reputation was occasionally a hindrance. At Pensacola, Florida, he was detained by local officials who insisted on proper hospitality; Bartram escaped with graceful excuses, eager to return to his exploration in the field.(113)
The form, plot, and narrative persona of Bartram’s Travels all derive from his personal experiences and character, but they also match the conventions of many prose travel narratives written during the late 18th century, a period known as the Enlightenment. Bartram, who was well-educated and an active reader, probably knew several of the important travel narratives published in this period: Montesquieu, The Persian Letters; Goldsmith, A Citizen of the World; Sterne, A Sentimental Journey; Johnson, Rasselas; Voltaire, Candide, and Boswell, A Tour of the Hebrides. He had also read the more prosaic accounts of early American explorers and naturalists, like Mark Catesby; but the literary tradition is of greater importance in establishing Bartram’s contributions. In the great travel narratives of this period, the author consciously enacts his progress toward enlightenment, or education. His journey is a quest for learning, a pilgrimage toward self-fulfillment, as he pursues outward experiences that persistently shape his inner life. He remains open to all experiences, ready to absorb them directly, no matter how unusual or exotic they seem. Yet he also travels with a thesis, a pre-established idea that enables him to form general conclusions. He thus remains free of narrow prejudice, while his central convictions provide a means of utilizing all experiences, regardless of their origin.(114)
94. In addition to the maps reproduced in this report, see: The Atlas of Early American History: The Revolutionary Era, 1760–1790, L. J. Cappon, B. B. Petchenik, and J. H. Long, Editors, Princeton, 19Y6, pp. 108.
95. Bartram’s Travels, op. cit., p. 14, Harper, p. 9.
96. Ibid., pp. 90–91, Harper, p. 58.
97. Ibid., pp. 276–280, Harper, pp. 173–175.
98. Ibid., p. 180, Harper, p. 115.
99. Ibid., pp. 20–22, Harper, pp. 14–15.
100. Ibid., p. 155, Harper, p. 98.
101. Ibid., p. 166, Harper, p. 105.
102. Ibid., p. 302, Harper, p. 191.
103. Ibid., pp. 264–284, Harper, pp. 167–178.
104. Ibid., p. 284, Harper, p. 178.
105. Ibid., pp. 284–302, Harper, pp. 178–191.
106. Helen Cruickshank, John and William Bartram’s America, New York, 1957, p. 18.
107. Bartram’s Travels, op. cit., p. 296, Harper, p. 187.
108. Fagin, William Bartram, Interpreter of the American Landscape, op. cit., pp. 22–26.
109. Bartram’s Travels, op. cit., pp. 73–74, Harper, p. 48.
110. Ibid., p. 185, Harper, p. 118.
111. Ibid., p. 218, Harper, pp. 137–138.
112. Ibid., p. 357, Harper, p. 225.
113. Ibid., pp. 414–415, Harper, pp. 262–263.
114. For descriptions of this genre and the Enlightenment in general, see Isaiah Berlin, The Age of Enlightenment, New York: Mentor Books, 1956; Ernst Cassirer, The Philosophy of the Enlightenment, New York: Oxford, 1958.
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